Covered in Pet Fur: How to Start an Animal Rescue, The Right Way

Summary

Non-profit organization founders Amy Beatty & Stacey Ritz discuss in detail the ins and outs of running a successful non-profit organization. From the early days of animal shelter volunteer work to currently running a sustainable and viable organization within their community, the authors discuss both their successes and failures in forming and running their organization. While non-profit organizations are often characterized as a labor of love, keen business sense, ingenuity and dedication to ones passion are essential ingredients for any business - non-profit or for-profit.

Throughout each chapter the authors pinpoint one topic and hone in on specific details to either enhance your current non-profit organization or to provide guidance and assist you in starting your own non-profit organization. A coveted how to guide for starting and operating an animal rescue, Covered in Pet Fur intertwines countless stories from the founders of Advocates 4 Animals, Inc. Firsthand accounts of rescue missions, collaborative efforts with shelters and pitfalls that have been encountered along the way bring hilarity and and clarity to the world of animal rescue. With an estimated 3 to 4 million pets being euthanized annually in United States animal shelters, viable and sustainable rescue organizations are urgently needed.

Whether you are a start-up non-profit organization, an existing organization seeking growth and new ideas, or simply an individual who wants to make an impact on your own community, Covered in Pet Fur will certainly inspire, educate and at times bring you to both laughter and tears. A must read for any animal lover and anyone who truly wants to make the world a better place through insight and action.

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WHAT EVERYONE IS SAYING...

"I met the authors almost five years ago and immediately was drawn to their project because of their passion and dedication to our furry friends. I learned a little from them through brief conversation but not until I read their book did I fully understand the ins and outs of what they were doing. I really enjoyed their book (which was very well written) as it gave the good, the bad and the ugly--they left no stone unturned."-Mark and Janet Garlikov

"5-Stars! Great book for anyone that is considering fostering, starting their own rescue or starting any non-profit (though it is geared to animal rescue, there are still points any nonprofit can use)."

"This is a unique perspective on animal rescue and the only book of its kind on the market. The two authors have years of hands-on experience working in animal rescue and share their collective wisdom on all aspects of shelter rescue: the good, the bad and the ugly. There are harrowing, heartbreaking and inspiring stories mixed with practical step-by-step tips on how to plan, organize and run a rescue group. Covered in Pet Fur is a brutally honest primer for anyone thinking they want help rescue animals and those already volunteering or working in rescue or shelters." - Layla Morgan Wilde

"Couldn't put it down! Full of useful information for those considering starting a nonprofit and covers pretty much everything you can think of." -Amanda K. Stanley

"This was a great read on how Advocates 4 Animals started with great suggestions and points to consider for starting one's own rescue. I loved the stories about the animals the author had experiences with and would have enjoyed more stories in the overall content."- Jean, Canada

"This book is a MUST HAVE! Great book! Really gives you insight into the world of rescue. It teaches you how to make an impact on your community as an individual or as a group." -Katrina Thompson

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Covered in Pet Fur - Stacey Ritz

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FORWARD

IT SAT IN A FORGOTTEN PART OF THE CITY. The dilapidated building was dark and surrounded by an eight foot tall barbed wire fence. The only sign was no larger than a sheet of computer paper. It was crookedly suspended, hanging from one rotting corner just above the padlock. It read OPEN HOURS and any remaining words had been long since bleached by the relentless sun. I double checked the address on my sheet of paper. (This was before I owned a cell phone and I had never dreamed that one day we would have GPS systems leading us anywhere we desired to go.) It was the correct address. But weren’t animal shelters friendly places filled with people who adored animals? Weren’t non-profit organizations clean and welcoming? Weren’t they there to help? My mind buzzed with questions, although neither of us said a word. We were still in undergraduate school learning the ways of the world. Yet we had no idea we were about to embark on one of our most impactful lessons as we hesitantly approached the padlocked gates.

A burley man in a blue and black checkered flannel vest strolled out to the fence from inside, a worn cigarette hanging from the left corner of his mouth as a cloud of smoke surrounded his solemn face. I admit I wanted to turn and run back to the safety of our car. But my curiosity got the best of me. Or maybe we were both just paralyzed; in shock from our new surroundings. We were accustomed to our plush college campus, bright lights, clean sidewalks, smiling faces…but somehow we had driven just a few miles away into what felt like the Twilight Zone. Maybe now, well over a decade later, I would have turned and run. No seriously, who I am kidding? I would have stayed. I wanted to know what was behind the barbed wire. I wanted to know what happened to the animals who were found being abused, who were no longer wanted through no fault of their own. I wanted to know the reality of life for companion animals in our country. And although we spent years volunteering at various shelters, pounds and sanctuaries around the Midwest, I attribute what we have built today to our first day at this particular shelter; where countless lives were tossed into the dark and left, forgotten by the rest of the world. Out of sight, out of mind.

We located the shelter address through the phone book. I am well aware that this dates us, as we were living in a pre-Google time. But maybe what saved us was my chatter. I’ll never be sure, but back in those days I tended to ramble when my nerves got the best of me. It was my way of trying to calm myself. Whatever it was, the flannelled man we came to know as Todd pulled out his key and allowed us through the gates and into the city shelter. Our bewildered faces tried to take it all in. When we explained that we wanted to volunteer, Todd raised his eyebrows as if to indicate that we were crazy. He explained that he did not have any open paid positions, not understanding why anyone would subject themselves to this environment without receiving a paycheck. We told him we just wanted to spend time with the animals, to bring in toys for the cats, to take the dogs on walks; we just wanted to give them some love and attention while they waited behind bars for a slim chance at finding a home. Todd nodded, clearly thinking we would never return.

First, Todd led us to a narrow building they called the cat room. Small rusty wire cages lined the room from floor to ceiling and stacked side by side. Only a slender opening existed down the center of the piles of cages leaving a space for us to walk. Cats received no vetting - no spay or neuter surgeries and certainly no vaccinations. A few animals had food in their cages, hardly any had water and the bowls looked as if they had been dry for quite some time. No one had toys and most of the litter boxes were overflowing with old feces. Many cats started meowing when we entered the room, some stuck their paws through the wire bars, begging for help. My initial reaction was to run and open every cage door and let them all run free in the room while we cleaned their cages and filled their bowls with fresh food and water. But instead I pressed my hands behind my back and tried to remain calm. We asked questions about how many adoptions occurred, why the cats in their care received absolutely no vetting and we learned that there had never been volunteers. Never.

Next we walked over to the main building. The room looked dilapidated and the small space was dark. No natural light existed. It looked more like an old barn than a shelter. There was no heating or air

conditioning, just cages stacked in endless rows, filled with dogs of every color and size. Most of them couldn’t stand up in their cages without having to hunch down in their cramped quarters. The dogs never left their crates unless by some odd stroke of luck a rare visitor adopted them. Todd said the only other way the dogs ever left their cages was if they died in their crates, and that happened too often. There were six long rows of wire dog crates lining what we grew to call The Warehouse. The crates were stacked on top of each other, just as the cats had been. Only with the dogs, some small dogs sat next to large dogs and they fought viciously through the bent metal bars, frustrated by their helpless fates. It was enough to rattle even the most placid visitors. It wasn’t until months later that we would learn of a secret room in a back building where additional dogs were held in the dark. This building was more like a shed. Like The Warehouse, it had no natural light. To make matters worse, there was no electricity and the cage floors had rotted, leaving the dogs behind bars often yelping in pain as their paws fell through the rotted holes in the floor boards.

We began volunteering once a week and then twice. Every free moment we had outside of classes, studies and our training and competitions for the indoor track, outdoor track and cross-country team, we drove to the forgotten corner of town and spent hours upon hours with the imprisoned animals.

Todd left us to our own devices. He stayed in his small building off to the side from the others. We would always stop in and say good-bye as we left each time and he would be leaning back in his chair puffing away on that old cigarette. As ghastly as it may sound, more than a decade and a half later, Todd is still the most compassionate open intake shelter or pound director we have met to date. I wish it wasn’t so, but Todd shines above the others we would meet as time marched on. Compassion, among other things, somehow is always missing in our nation’s city shelter and county pound directors. Job requirements tended to focus on obedience and adherence to the random stipulations of keeping the cages empty at all costs, rather than trying to help the animals that the facility serves and protects.

By our second visit to the dilapidated shelter, we had opened every cat cage in the room, letting them run free. The cats had a window and each took turns looking out into the world, some perhaps for the first time in years. A few cats jumped on top of the long heavy lights hanging from the ceiling and knowing they were happy to move around, we laughed in delight. We made hundreds of toys so that every cage had several variations to help numb the sting of solitude when we placed them back in their cages. Each visit, we thoroughly cleaned every litter box and gave them fresh food and water. We lined their wire crates with newspaper so their paws found a soft place to land (we collected old newspapers and brought them with us). We were college students and didn’t have much extra money, but when we had some to spare we would buy treats to give the cats on our visits. In time, we developed a system during every visit, we let ten cats out of their cages to play, rotating until everyone had a taste of freedom for the day. On rare occasion, Todd would walk over to the small building and crack the door open to ask if everything was going okay. He may have thought we were crazy, two twenty-year olds spending our free time playing with cats; but we didn’t think a thing about it. We were exactly where we wanted to be.

After spending half of the day with the cats, we would move on to the dogs. For the first few months of volunteering, we would choose five dogs to walk at once. We would secure them into collars and leashes and take off into the city surrounded by fast-moving cars with tinted windows and booming music, often strolling through deserted parks. We would walk the group of dogs for a mile and head back for another batch. We walked Pit-Bulls and Rottweiler’s, Chihuahua’s and mixed breeds. At the time, we didn’t know the labels given to any of the breeds; we only knew that they needed exercise and fresh air. We knew intuitively that they needed love.

Eventually we discovered a large fenced area in the back of the buildings. The grass was tall and the area had clearly never been used. Another forgotten place. Our young minds saw the unused space as an opportunity. That very day, without asking permission, we giggled like children as we took the dogs from their unsightly cages, one by one, and released them into the fenced back yard. After an hour we had every dog from the shelter out in the yard together. It never occurred to us that some dogs may not get along with others. It never crossed our minds that most of the dogs were unaltered. We only knew we wanted them to experience life, rather than to simply rot away in the forgotten building. If we could bring them one good day, we knew they would be happier for it. We didn’t have any dog toys, but we found old branches and tossed them to the larger dogs. We kneeled on the ground to pet the small and senior canines and our eyes danced as we watched every one of them trot and run in the forgotten space, taking in the fresh air that touched their bodies, some for the first time in years. Todd wandered out into the yard after hearing our shouts of play and I turned just in time to see him shake his head, that darn cigarette hanging permanently from the corner of his mouth. Before I could blink, he had disappeared back into his office and we continued to play.

In all of our years at the shelter, we continued the tradition of letting the dogs run free together in the yard while we played with them and gave them attention (and we did the same for the cat room). Never once did we encounter an altercation between the dogs. They loved the sweet taste of freedom and it was clear that they weren’t going to do anything to lose those moments of rare bliss.

During our last two years of undergraduate school, we scheduled a date once a year where the entire women’s track team came to volunteer at the city animal shelter. Some spent time with cats and others helped walk the dogs throughout the city.

We continued volunteering several times a week as the years marched on and we grew closer to earning our degrees. We flew to Stanford, rode charter buses to Duke and everywhere in between for our competitive races (track and cross-country) and each time we returned, we found ourselves covered in pet fur in a forgotten corner of the city. One day as we entered the cat room, we noticed an elderly cat who stood motionless in her rusty cage, a malnourished kitten draped lifelessly over her boney back. The older cat had long brittle gray fur that fell off in clumps with each new breath. One eye held steady on us, the other was missing and left in its place was a socket full of fresh oozing blood and infection. We reached in to hold her and felt every bone in her frail body. The little beige kitten wasn’t fairing any better. We carried them across the gravel yard and into Todd’s office to ask about them. Where had they come from? What happened to the older cats eye? Could they get some veterinary care? By that point, we had been talking with veterinarians in the area to see if they would be willing to donate some of their time to the forgotten shelter. We were dismissed as dumb kids time and again, until one veterinarian said maybe. That maybe got us fired up. We pitched the idea to Todd and he said it wasn’t possible. We tried time and again to bring veterinarians to the shelter. We offered to drive shelter pets to the veterinarian’s office. We offered everything we could think of to provide